


Curious was the heart

by lady__sansa_stark



Category: Caraval Series - Stephanie Garber
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Tbh just writing scenes from Jacks' perspective, Though this was meant to be 1-2k words...oops, it's fun getting into other character's heads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18835393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady__sansa_stark/pseuds/lady__sansa_stark
Summary: Curious was the heart.A bit of muscle, yes, flowing the blood that kept living things alive. Hardy enough that it was the sole guardian between life and death. Delicate enough that it needed its own cadre of knights to shield it. Romantically, it beat on and on as a testament to how strongly humans care about one another, and want one another — often to the point where it hurt being apart for even a moment. And practically: the measurement of one’s time, however brief, for those that have a finite end.Curiouser, still, was the heart that beat its first th-thump in...well, since he could remember.





	Curious was the heart

**Author's Note:**

> [Finished up Finale and I had the urge to write a scene from Jacks’ perspective. Do I have a thing for selfish godlike beings who don’t quite understand what love is? Perhaps. But I know I ain’t the only one
> 
> Spoilers if you haven’t finished Finale btw (or at least gotten idk 1/3 way through, but to be safe finish it). Also any references to the first 2 books are based mostly on memory, so apologies if there’s something wrong lmao]

 

              Curious was the heart.

              A bit of muscle, yes, flowing the blood that kept living things alive. Hardy enough that it was the sole guardian between life and death. Delicate enough that it needed its own cadre of knights to shield it. Romantically, it beat on and on as a testament to how strongly humans care about one another, and want one another — often to the point where it hurt being apart for even a moment. And practically: the measurement of one’s time, however brief, for those that have a finite end.

              Curiouser, still, was the heart that beat its first _th-thump_ in...well, since Jacks could remember.

              Donatella shoved him aside, fear flooding out the false adoration she had worn so beautifully. Bruised lips and wide eyes. A heart pounding from his touch, and from who he was: a Fate. Jacks’ kiss was deadly to all who succumbed to a taste; he was kind enough to make their last breath as sweet and hungry as he could.

              Naive as she was, she’d been determined to win her mother back — and also a bit determined not to die because she failed him. A wondrous act Donatella had been playing, until she was confronted with the realization that none of it mattered once their lips touched. Death had that sort of effect.

              His lips were still warmed from the kiss with his alleged fiancee. Shorter than him but standing proud when she forget (for their dance) that his whims were the only thing keeping her alive. Everyone in the room was entranced by her: they wanted to be Jacks, kissing her, touching her, making her forget both manners and morals.

              Now, fear and hatred paling her skin, she looked much smaller. Much less the proud future-wife of the soon-to-be emperor. More like the young girl she was, in far too deep, with no means to escape.

              She was meant to be his Princess of Hearts?

              There were a lot of things Jacks didn’t know, and many more he didn’t remember. Like his name before he was turned immortal, or the way his heart once beat and broke that he could do nothing but shed bloodied tears for the love he never had.

              Jacks wanted to laugh. It was preposterous that _this little thing_ was meant to be his! That all his life he’d been searching for someone, only to stumble across her like this.

              Preposterous.

              Ridiculous.

              Intriguing.

              He closed his mouth, unable to fend off the unkind grin pulling on his lips. A trail of her blood spilled from the corner of his lips, and he greedily licked it off. Sweet was her blood, was the scent of her as she danced around with him.

              Sweeter still from the source.

              “What did you do to me?” Her words rushed out, as though she had no time at all, not with the gentle squeeze he held on her heart. Her hand clutched her chest.

              Jacks had been displeased not half an hour ago that the little girl he ferried away from her demanding father proved a failure like all the rest of them. _Bring me Legends’ name_ ; for what he gave her, for what he _freed_ her from, it was the simplest request.

              She didn’t have it, and so she didn’t deserve to keep her life.

              Jacks had planned to kill this girl with his kiss. He’d done it plenty of times. Kissing her behind a column and leaving her there with a goblet of wine to be found after the game’s end, realizing she was in fact dead and not sleeping off a raucous hangover.

              A little rumor about him having a fiancee prolonged her death. He would _have_ to kill her. Jacks didn’t earn his reputation killing the rest of Elantine’s heirs for nothing, nor his former fiancee.

              And now, with the worlds’ hearts stopped saved Donatella’s — and his! — the sudden revelation that she technically _was_ his long-lost fiancee. His other half.

              His true love.

              Jacks took a step towards her.

              Caraval had just begun, and who was to say he couldn’t play his own game along with Legend?

              He smiled at her, kindness an unknown supplier to his grins. He planned to kill her like everyone else in his way. Jacks knew now — with a heart he forgot about beating deep inside him, filling his bones with the rhythmic beating — he couldn’t, not even if he wanted to.

              And all saints, did he want to.

* * *

              In the days after Caraval, Jacks wasn’t _technically_ barred from the palace, just as he hadn’t _technically_ been Elantine’s lost heir. Something about lying to the whole of Valenda for years, and all that nonsense. But the palace’s unwelcomeness was far from subtle. The guards came up with enough not-so-clever lies whenever they restricted him entrance, he could do nothing but laugh when he could feel they wanted nothing more than to run him through with their weapons. Jacks would have preferred to stay away for all the good it did him, what with not having the crown assured in a few months’ time. Annoying, how well-wrought plans could crumble so quickly.

              But the beating in his heart was sickening — a heavy _ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump_ followed by him wherever he went, every minute of every day — to the point where he couldn’t go more than a few hours without it paining him, urging him towards _her_. Lost in thought, his feet made sure to find him home wherever she was. Which, unfortunately, was in a palace that had no business wanting him around.

              Donatella, thankfully, decided to get away from the (other) false-heir. She and her sister packed up their belongings the morning after Caraval (they had three suitcases between the two of them (plus their mother, though the lady didn’t count, Jacks thought, even if she was responsive as a fourth trunk). The suitcases _were_ rather huge). Jacks spied them clambering onto a coach that morning, when the streets were still thick with leftover magic and wonderment.

              He followed them, of course. He didn't really need to, so long as Donatella's heart beat; Jacks could find her anywhere in the city. It was good to know where exactly she resided, for purposes Jacks could only hand-wave away. Not for her safety, and surely not for her good.

              At the least he stayed away without so much a _Hello_. That was kind of him, was it not?

              So between finding himself passing by her apartments and wandering through the ruins of Valenda, there was only so much he could do to spend his days. Jacks had thrilled in toying with people cooing Elantine’s first lost heir, hoping for favors once he took the crown. And why shouldn’t they? They were _elated_ and _longing_ for Jacks’ approval, for him to manage a glance their way let alone a smile. Either that, or they hoped he wouldn't find fault to have them discreetly killed. His reputation was hard-won, and quickly-gone. People were always too easy to manipulate.

              Now? Jacks was nothing but dreadfully _bored_.

              More so, given the girl to whom his heart awoke to spent most of her days locked away in those dingy apartments on the edge of the Satine District. A lively part of town, to be sure, and full with people who understood which colors and patterns of their kerchiefs matched best with the threading on their coats (often they scoffed at Jacks’ own personal taste of disarray). The problem was _this faraway corner_ of the district was less...formal. Which was fine for Jacks. He had little reason to impress people, anyways, and a bit of a disheveled bachelor look (he thought) made him look even less proper.

              Besides, he knew his love wasn’t hiding away because of or from _him_ . She would never peer through her curtains, afraid for the Fate lounging against the building opposite staring at her window. Nor would she rush to close the curtain at having been spied doing so, her heart equal parts afraid for being caught and delighted that he was there. Anything like that would imply she _did_ love him, and didn’t want him to find out.

              Still, it was nice to imagine it.

              “Well that’s unfortunate.”

              Jacks laid his cards down on the table, a defeated smile softening his loss. He'd forgotten about the game he was playing, hands going through the motions until they found him with but a pair of sevens.

              “Thank the spirits,” the woman across from him let out with a laugh. Her hand was highest — flush, almost royal — and as the winner, demanded Jacks remove his cravat. He obliged, staring the woman down the entire down, and going so far as to unbutton the top of his collar.

              Jacks gave a wink.

              The crowd around him whooped and cheered — lady luck was looking their way if the incomparable Jacks found himself a losing hand. His chips pile was narrowing. It wasn’t often Jacks’ hand was bested by someone, and almost _never_ by all at the table.

              He knew what his heart (damned the thing) was telling him.

              He tossed his cravat to the woman opposite; she gleefully caught it, bringing it up to her nose for a whiff. The chips he tossed in to the pot. “I should take this to heart and ruefully depert, lest you all take the rest of the clothes from me.” He shot them a smile, letting more than a few feel the mix of desire and disappointment; they may not be entirely under his control (yet), but they would be back again at the chance of peeking further beneath Jacks’ exterior. And some needed not his encouragement, from the way they urged his fingers to undo more buttons.

              He passed the Mistress Luck on his way out, not bothering to look her way even though he could feel her gaze trailing him the moment he entered the main hall.

              She did that each time he left, which was more often that he’d cared to admit. It wasn’t as though the Fates cared for one another — they weren’t human enough for that, and besides, with all of eternity to look forward to, what did it matter?

              But Jacks was _different_ now. Jacks had a true love, and a beating heart, and could — if he ever succumbed to it — be killed.

              The thought sent a shiver down his frigid spine.

              At least at the moment, Donatella was content. He could feel her emotions, a faint beating against his own heart. No, more than content. _Elated_. Someone or something had brought his love happiness in the many months since their fates had been sealed; and Jacks, though he tried not to care, found himself heading in the direction of her heartbeat more often than not.

               _Perhaps it’s that boy again_. Jacks had seen nothing of the crowned emperor of Valenda since the nights of Caraval.

              The boy — Dante — had been smitten with Donatella long before Jacks swept her into the cage that first night with a dance and a kiss. Jacks need not peer into his heart to feel the seething jealousy emanating off of him.

              To be honest, it only made Jacks try even harder to win Donatella over. If she loved him, then she wouldn’t love that fool of an heir. And if Dante was unsettled by that, then his crown could easily find itself tumbling onto the floor.

              The air was thick with the scent of festival. The mourning period was over, and people loved nothing more than a good party, filled with meats and sweets and drinks. Even if it weren’t he longest day of the year, Valenda wouldn’t stop the revelry until sunrise tomorrow; more than enough time to get roarously drunk and pass out somewhere.

              Perhaps that was what made Donatella elated now. Certainly she was enjoying the festival (and maybe in the arms of Dante? Jacks loathed the idea). It was a happiness greater than he felt in the past weeks; something was-

              Jacks clutched his chest.

              Something was wrong.

              Jacks picked up his pace, weaving through the growing crowd. People and carts were clustering the streets again, preparing for the evening revelry. Fading fireworks’ smoke mixed with spiced meats and sweet buns, and the sharpness of wine and mead and every sort of alcohol in between. Mourning was done for the late empress, and if there was one thing people knew how to do best it was forgetting their sorrows in drink and food and bodies. Losing their emotions for a night. There was much partying to be done during the Sun Festival, and Jacks should by all accounts be soaking up the massive mess of euphoria and drunkenness.

              He cared not a lick about the people and the party. He only cared about-

              A mess of torn fabric and frantic limbs shot out in front of him. It looked around, practically sniffing the air like a bloodhound. For what? Jacks didn’t know, but they shoved him aside in their way to find something.

              Or to get _away_ from someone?

              Jacks followed the frenzied Donatella. Some might say at a _respectable distance_ , as befits a stalker who only meant to stalk and nothing more. But the state of her dress — beautiful but torn in places, and dirtied at the hems — had Jacks concerned. To and fro her head moved, as if searching for some invisible fly buzzing about her. And her eyes: wide, wild. She looked…

              A bit mad.

              Which gave her no right to look quite so charming.

              The growing throng of people blocked Donatella’s way, though it made it easy enough for Jacks to slip behind in the gaps she made.

              It was hard to say what drove the girl on, but Jacks wasn’t going to let her go alone. A fool in love would say he was worried and feared what she might do. Jacks worried about the person she was following, and what sort of hell they were about to have unleashed on their face.

              She shivered. And looked back, straight into the pocket of shadow he slipped into. They descended into ruins, further and further away from the warmth of sun and people outside. Donatella looked as though she realized she _should_ go back, but the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Down she flew the rest of the stairs.

              Until they came across a pair of guards.

              Not dead — unconscious.

              Jacks’ slipped closer in the shadows, close enough he could hear her frightened breaths.

              Close enough he could feel the wind as she rushed forward through the cavern, feet pounding against the dirt floor, and over a river running red, straight into the confused arms of another woman.

              Jacks remained far enough away to avoid Paradise’s detection. They way she looked spoke enough about the fact that Donatella _shouldn’t be here_. And Paradise injecting her with the same serum to lock her muscles was an act of kindness.

              Jacks watched the scene from the shadows, the same as Donatella.

              Paradise met with the Fallen Star.

              They were _lovers_ , in a time before Paradise was trapped.

              The Fallen Star had succumbed to human folly.

              Then.

              Not now.

              Not when Paradise plunged a dagger into his chest.

              He didn’t stumble when he pulled it out and found a new home in hers.

              Donatella looked distraught: if she could cry, and scream, and rage, and break down — she would have. Jacks approached, staring down at her. Donatella didn’t notice him, didn’t notice anything save for her mother lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood. _And for what?_ Jacks thought bitterly. _The Fallen Star wasn’t dead. She wasted her life_.

              Still Donatella’s muscles ached to move, to do _something_ more than nothing.

              Though she couldn’t move or speak, everything was in her _eyes_ . A rich hazel brown, brighter than the dirt she was scraping beneath her fingernails. All of her _hatred_ and _misery_ , written there plain for him to indulge.

              Her jaw struggled to work: scream in pain, in horror, in rage.

              If the poison she’d been injected with was anything like the ones to knock out the guards, then it wouldn’t be long before Donatella was out cold. Though, death was a wondrous way to sober up; maybe it worked on poisons as well as alcohol.

              “You sonofabi—"

              Jacks clamped his hand over her mouth. “Quiet, my love,” he whispered, eyes darting up to the Fallen Star. Dying as he may be now, there was no reason to give the wretched thing a motive when he returned (decidedly less stabbed). Back to Donatella, his hand hovering over her back as though to soothe the anger from her body. He felt her mouth tensed against his, and perhaps a second more she’d be biting his skin away for a chance to rip the Fallen Star’s head off. A bit redundant, and not at all effective. “There’s nothing you can do for her now except keep yourself alive.”

              The muscles in her jaw tightened. Donatella wanted nothing more than to argue against him (and he would have loved it, too, had it not been for the Fate dying not twenty meters away). And maybe there was a little bit of her not wanting Jacks _touching_ her, even if it was to save her life. Something about threatening to kill her.

              Donatella relented, whatever parts of her she regained control of slumping down onto the dirt.

              She couldn’t pry her eyes off of the dying Fate, and her dead mother.

              “At least he stabbed her instead of burning her to death with his powers,” Jacks said, kneeling down beside her. If she noticed him moving she made no motion to acknowledge it; as such, he gently stroked a line across her shoulders. She didn’t acknowledge that, either. “Fire’s the most painful way to die.”

              “That’s not helping,” Donatella replied, still not looking at him.

              Jacks glanced at the mess of bodies (not a _mess_ in a tangle of limbs like he’d seen of the Fallen Star, a knotwork of people before setting it all ablaze. But there was blood, more than Jacks would have liked). He sighed, slipping his arms beneath Donatella. “Well, I’m not really the comforting sort.”

              “Put me down.” She struggled as best as she could, but even that was pointless. Jacks could feel it in the beating of her heart: she didn’t want him touching her, but she was glad of it. Maybe there was some truth in those fanciful dreams of his after all.

              Jacks wasn’t going to put her down, and not because the poison made her vulnerable. Well, that was a little the reason. “If I leave you here, you’ll die like your mother when Gavriel comes back to life. Or another Fate will just find you.” _There’s worse things to be here than me_ . The Undead Queen would have Donatella’s head, and Jester Mad would make her dance around until she died. No, there wasn’t a Fate Jacks would like to stumble across Donatella (save for himself). The thought of _them_ , any of them, having found Donatella before him and having their way with her until she was begging for death — and then taking away her ability to beg — made Jacks’ arms tighten around her.

              “Why do you care?”

              It was Donatella who spoke the words, though they could easily have come from his heart. “I don’t,” he said plainly, smiling at her. She rolled her eyes. “I just prefer torturing you myself.”

              “Too late.”

              He let loose a breath through his nose.

              He enjoyed torturing her with her own feelings, wanting her to admit she cared for and wanted him (if only because he couldn’t do the job himself). Torturing her with kisses and touches, until she found her body betraying her mind. Surely Jacks wasn’t so bad if he made her feel so good...

              But torturing her like this? Jacks glanced back at her mother, alone and dead in the dirt. No, even Jacks — doomed Prince of Hearts as he was — was not so heartless.

              “I’ll find a way to destroy him,” she said, speaking the words as though she were casting destiny unto herself. As stubborn as she was, Jacks admired her determination. Her stubbornness. If she weren’t so stubborn, she might even like him. At the very least, Donatella might thank him for whisking her away from the Menagerie like the shining prince he wasn’t.

              “Not in this condition,” he said softly, carrying her up the stairs back into the truth of the ruins and the city beyond.

              It was still bright out in Valenda, the crowds thicker than before. No one paid Jacks attention, or the girl he carried. They had more important things to deal with, and lies were easy to Jacks.

              The entire walk Donatella fought against her body’s yearn to cry, to release all of the pain and suffering in the only way she knew how. She shuddered, facing away from the bright blue sky and the cheerful hoots and hollers of the city. _Why should the world be so happy when she wasn’t_ , she must be thinking. She buried her head further into Jacks’ chest.

              He glanced down at the top of her head, at the way her shoulders shuddered against his grip. Maybe it wasn’t that she didn’t want to cry, rather she didn’t want to cry _in front of him_. And least of all in his arms.

              She hated him, after all.

              Too bad Jacks wasn’t going to let go.

              “I’d try to say something comforting,” he began, weaving around a group of merchants that tried to take advantage of his _lady’s poor humors, she needs only a spoonful of this honey to forget all her sorrows_ . Jacks knew she would need only a drop of the drug to forget everything, even her name. He promised the merchants he knew a much better remedy. “But the last time you didn’t appreciate it.” _Or me, for that matter_.

              She didn’t say anything, nor did her shuddering pause long enough to acknowledge what he’d said. Perhaps it was for the best Donatella was too distraught to think about why Jacks was being so kind to her.

              On he walked, and on she cried.

              The sun was bright as ever by the time they entered the gambling den, the sudden uproar of hollers and thrown dice making Donatella look up for but a moment.

              He’d have offered to take her to her own apartments, but he knew she didn’t want that. In times like this, it was better to be someplace unfamiliar, someplace where a scent or a stray memory came breaking down her growing composure. That, and Jacks didn’t want to share her with her sister.

              Jacks wanted this girl all for himself, even for a night.

              The Mistress Luck chastised him from across the room, though Jacks had no time for her continued unspoken words. The gathered revelry let loose a collective _tsk_ at first. Then, with the Mistress’ persistence and Jacks’ ignorance, threw their hands and dice down in frustration.

              Still, the girl in his arms refused to look up. He had a feeling, had Donatella’s face not been so pressed against his chest, nor had she just witnessed a Fate murder her mother, she might enjoy herself in the games and the camaraderie. At least the money she would lose would pale in comparison to the mother she watched die.

              Ah, a good thing she wasn’t looking for comforting words.

              “What a sweet little thing you’ve there,” a man said, standing close enough Jacks could see the liquor in his black black eyes. The man licked his crooked lips. There was a stack of chips in his hands — all black.

              “Won’t you like to continue what we started?” came another voice, deep and sultry. Jacks didn’t recognize the face but he still smiled, elbowing his way through.

              “Come over and play a little, won’t you?” another woman cooed, her hands falling across his arms as if either not noticing the girl he cradled, or trying to rid Donatella for him.

              “Can’t you see my hands are full,” Jacks finally replied, looking at the gathering hopefuls without taking them in. He kept the annoyance out of his voice (a well-practiced feat). A sweet lilt and smile silently nodded to their implications of what his hands were full with, and how they would be full in but moment’s time. Jacks smiled grew wider with wicked intention as he pried himself away towards the back, climbing the stairs first in ones then in twos. Everyone below knew — or liked to think they did — how Jacks meant to spend his Sun Festival revelry.

              Up and up and up, until he finally reached his study. He moved for the well-worn couch, debating for half of a heartbeat before deciding to sit down himself, Donatella still firmly in his arms. A gentleman would have laid her down, set his coat over her, and fetched for some water and perhaps a nurse. Jacks was the furthest thing from noble.               

              And chivalry besides, he wasn’t even _human_.

              His hands stroked up and down the expanse of her back, working warmth into her body despite the lack in his. Her shudders slowed, though her hands kept his shirt front firmly prisoners in her grip.

              Jacks didn’t move, didn’t speak, hardly breathed. Around and around his hands worked in circles, softening knots. If this was how they would spend the evening, then so be it. The world could freeze, or end, and Jacks wouldn’t mind as much as he might have months ago. He pushed the thought aside.

              Donatella slowly pried her face away, curiosity drawing her eyes around his room. There wasn’t much, and maybe she finally realized she wasn’t in the safe walls of her apartments. All sorts of things could happen her; surely she never imagined being comforted by _him_ of all people. Her curiosity fell when her eyes returned to him, finding the mess she’d made on his shirt. Dirt and tears

              She didn’t move away; so Jacks pulled her closer, his hands taking her silence as tentative admission to explore her. One hand remained drawing circles across the small of her back, the other worked to dislodged knots in her hair. There were quite a few.

              “Why are you helping me?”

              He pursed his lips. The _way_ she said it implied there was a caveat, and usually there would be. Since when had Jacks done something for free, let alone out of the kindness of his unbeating heart? Donatella had instead said without saying: _I know you well enough. You threatened to kill me because I didn’t give you what you wanted. And now you’ve rescued me_ again _. What do you want, for pulling me away from crying myself to death beside the corpse of my mother?_

              Having cradled her, having her here atop of him without disgust marring her face or jumping away was reward, though hardly enough. More than Jacks thought she’d ever allow, given what happened during Caraval. Threatening to kill someone would have that effect. “You’re not fun when you’re this pathetic. I can’t torment you if you’re _already_ miserable.” He loosed his hand from the tangle of hair to cradle her cheek, as gentle as a breeze. Her skin was warm against his.

              A dam burst open; whatever tears she was holding back flooded free from her eyes. Her body heaved against his arm that was now even tighter around her. There was hardly room between them, yet Jacks felt every single ache in her chest as clearly as though his own mother had died.

              Jack's leaned forward to kiss away the tears from her other cheek, salt and sun and sweetness despite the grief. His other hand remained against her face.

              Donatella opened her mouth: _I hate you_ . She wanted to say it. It was there, on the edge of her throat, waiting for the gentle push out. _I hate you so much, so so much_. It was almost a mantra where Jacks was concerned. She wanted to be his true love as much as Jacks wanted to be hers. Maybe less.

              “It was all for nothing.” It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. Donatella’s breath shuddered on the way out. “Everything I did to save her only worked to destroy her. I… I should have never tried to change the future I’d seen in the Aracle.” She paused. “The first time I saw her, the card only showed her in a prison. If I hadn’t tried to alter the future, she’d still be alive.”

              “Or maybe you’d be dead, too.” And where was the fun in toying with his true love then? He’d come to expect this constant _thump_ ing of his heart, especially when he felt it mirrored against her own chest. His hand on her back rested palm-flat over her heart, drawing tiny circles. He felt her: _ba-dump ba-dump._

              “But they could have been different.”               

              “They could have been worse. They likely would have been.”

              She tried to explain away her irrationalities: using the Assassin to go back in time and save everything. Her mother, her sister, herself. Undo all the wrongs and follow a path that would lead her to quite a boring, un-Caraval and un-true-love life.

              With a flick of his head he tossed an errant lock of his hair out of his eyes. Better to see her without it. To see the turmoil on her face and in her body, so far deep that even his roving hands couldn’t soothe. What she’d outline was horrible because it was altogether foolish, stupid, brash, and reckless (admittedly, those were words he knew this lovely thing in his lap would throw at him, and definitely has). “As I said, worst idea.”

              “Nothing could be worse than this!”

              Jacks’ hands stilled against her.

              She shuddered in a breath, holding onto it as though it was the only thing keeping her tears from falling. In the bright evening light, Jacks traced the trail of them with his thumb.

              She was full of anger; of fear; of hopelessness; of longing.

              It was a deliciously distraught concoction.

              Her fists grabbed his dirtied shirt, pulling him (and pulling herself) closer. “Please, Jacks.”

              Well, if she was going to beg so sweetly…

              Jacks tilted his head at her, gaining an extra millimeter between them. “What if I could take away the pain and sadness?”

              He rather liked it. Feeling how humans do, or a bastardization of it. Jacks could not grieve and weep and love like a human could — and why would he? They seemed to only bring about pain in the end — but it was a heady liquor whenever he took it in place of what he wanted them to feel. An exchange of emotions.

              He could have filled this strange creature in his lap with happiness, soak it into her skin and muscle and bones. Force her lovely lips to smile (though he could not make them kiss his, to his displeasure. That had to be won).

              But that wouldn’t be any fun at all.

              Donatella pulled away, her face a horrid mess of red splotches and tears. If Jacks didn’t know better, he’d have thought this girl instead was Scarlett from her countenance alone. “You...can?” She licked her own lips, mulling something over in her head before looking into his eyes. “How?”

              “It’s one of my abilities.” A tear had broken free from her outburst, and Jacks’ fingers were already brushing it away before he thought to do it. He did it again, as though his thumb could fend off any other brave tears marring her skin.

              Donatella froze. Because of his touch, likely, and because she’d must have heard and read the stories of the infamous _Prince of Hearts_ . All the sorts of things Jacks had done — with glee, with the fervent expectation that he would never stop because his true love was a false hope. He’d assumed so, too; the idea that he _had_ someone was lost to pragmatic realization some...many, many odd years ago. So many lovely and unlovely lips he’d kissed, so many corpses left in his arms when he’d pulled away.

              True love! What a farce!

              And yet, and yet-

              His true love was here, before him, in his lap, and mulling over the heady idea of forgetting her pain, her sadness.

              She was much softer than he’d thought, and incredibly warm. There was the unfortunate taste of blood and dirt and woods clinging to her skin and her tattered excuse for a dress — he wagered himself he could have her out of it by the morning.

              “I thought you didn’t have your full powers back,” she finally said.

              Jacks’ thumbnail cut across her cheekbone. “I don’t.” The fact Donatella wasn’t at his beck and call, cooing over him and relishing in each time he named her _my love_ rather than biting back her displeasure. “I still can’t control emotions the way I used to, or give someone feelings that they do not have. But, I _can_ temporarily remove unwanted feelings. I can take away your pain for tonight.”

              She didn’t say _No_ immediately, with an added scoff of _Never in my lifetime_. Or a slap. People were fond of that in lieu of words (mostly because the solid ringing of it sounded better than curses).

              Jacks didn’t remember what it was like, to lose someone he loved so dearly (not on account of love being a thing of dreams for Fates like him).

              Still, he didn’t want her to find comfort in...someone else. The thought alone had him pressing his fingers a little harder against her cheek. “I won’t be permanently erasing it, my love. You’ll still experience it. But when your sorrow returns tomorrow, it won’t be as powerful as it is now.”

               _Say yes_.

              Jacks trailed his other hand up and down her back again, feeling the gaps where the feathers had been viciously torn out by cruel thorns. There were a few of those left, and he carefully fished them out with his fingernails.

               _Say you want me to_.

              The first dress he touched her in was the one he gave her, with the sky-blue peonies trailing behind her. He’d wanted a reaction from the haughty girl who claimed to be his fiancee, asking the tailor for as little in the back as possible. It made it so easy to slip his fingers beneath whilst Donatella twirled around around around with him the first night of Caraval. How he wished this dress was that, and the expanse of her skin was for his famished fingers to explore.

               _Say you want me_.

              Her words didn't waver: “Do it.”

              Jacks’ hands stilled for one of his newly-beating heartbeats — and his heart paused, too.

              Donatella looked up at him, her warm brown eyes brighter with tears shining beneath and red rims. “Take the sadness and the pain — just take everything that hurts.”

              He’d like to believe he hadn’t heard the last two words — _just take everything_ — because, how much he wanted that like he’d never wanted another person before. _Take everything_. He wanted her so badly, it was a miracle he didn’t pretend she said:

               _Take everything_.

               _But it’s not so fun, then_ , he knew. _It’s much better if you beg with words of your own and not ones I’ve spoken for you_.

              Though, greedy as he was, Jacks would have taken either.

              “All right, my love.”

              He steadied her face with his hand, leaning in to take away her pain-

              “No.” Donatella practically threw her head back, her body moving as much as his grip would allow. “I’m not letting you kiss me again.”

               _But remember how much fun it was the last time?_

              Remember when Jacks’ heart starting beating again? Remember when she feared hers would stop?

              Well, if she wasn’t willing to bet her life on another kiss, then…

              Jacks licked his teeth.

              Kisses were his power. Donatella wanted to forget her hurt, but she wanted anything than to kiss him again (he was a marvelous kisser, so everyone told him). She wanted him to use his power without letting him use his power. A bit of a conundrum, that.

              Unless...

              Jacks bit his tongue, fighting a smile.

              Oh, she was going to _loathe_ him for this! There was no doubt about that. Worse than when he threatened to throw her out of the sky carriage, and, perhaps, worser even than when he placed a time limit on her heart with a stolen kiss. He might not be the Assassin, but Jacks could see a million different ways in which Donatella despised him. And one future where she realized all along that this — _him_ — was what she wanted.

              And yet, Jacks couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth.

              It _might have_ been inspired by a bit of wickedness in the moment — in secretly getting someone to do something they don’t entirely know. But there was the other wicked unknown that Jacks thrilled in. In _how_ Donatella would respond when she found out — if she found out before the empire went to shit — and what she would do to retaliate.

              Fool he would be to think she would ever once entertain the idea of being married to _him_.

              “There is another way, but—" Jacks’ hands clenched, for a moment, releasing themselves before she could even glance her eyes their way. "—it requires an exchange of blood.”

              Donatella’s body went still in his grip. “How much blood would you need to drink?”

               _All of it, all of you, if I could_ . “I don’t need to drink _any_ unless you wish to do it that way.” _You could always give me a kiss instead, my love_ . Secretly, he half-hoped she would say yes to blood, but even _that_ he thought would be pushing her ignorance too far. Look at him! A bit of conscious left after all. It must have come back with his heartbeat.

              Jacks let go of her cheek to fish for the dagger in his boot. He reluctantly let go of her cheek, too, well aware that she could jump off his lap and be out of the building before his body cooled from her touch.

              She didn’t. She watched him trace the point along the lines of his palm, remembering vaguely the way people would foretell his future from his hands. Always full of uncertainty, of a love so passionate and explosive that it would only bring them tears in the end. Tears of blood, a heart that stopped beating. A man left wandering to find someone to fill in the empty rhythm between his ribs.

              It was never written that _this_ would be Jacks’ forever. A pity.

              The dagger was sharp, cutting the skin of his palm without a wince of pain. The gold of his blood appeared lazily, slowly, until there was a fine river of it.

              Donatella took it. She might hate him — half because of who he was, and half because he _did_ try to kill her — but without Jacks, she and her sister would still be stuck on their little island with their father. The _least_ Donatella could do if she wasn’t going to give up who Legend was was this.

              Though, some might say it was a bit of a step.

              Her gaze was fascinated with the blood welling up in his hand. “What happens after I cut myself.”

              “We clasp hands and say magic words.” His words sounded teasing, but that was only because he was _excited_ . Far too excited, because she still hadn’t backed out. She could ask him — _what exactly do these magical words mean, and what other things will this do other than taking away my hurt_ — and Jacks wouldn’t lie. He’d never lied...specifically. Donatella just needed to learn how to ask questions better.

              She slit her palm open, bright crimson beading up. They both watched the river flow, falling down her hand, her wrist, splattering her dirty dress with two bright marks.

              She handed him back the dagger, but he didn’t want it. It fell with a clatter as Jacks instead took Donatella’s bleeding hand in his. Her pulse was racing. Maybe it was his. Maybe it was both of theirs, a mimick of their hearts.

              “Now, repeat after me.”

              The words were clunky on Donatella’s tongue, but Jacks felt the power in them wrap about their hands, like invisible threads. They were lazy, wrapping around and around, waiting, like coiled snakes to spring.

              “ _Persys atai lyrniallis_ ,” she finished. The words fell awkward from her untrained tongue, but they worked all the same.

              The magic lashed onto their entwined hands first, searing the two of them together in magical matrimony.

              Jacks felt her pain: the scorching, biting sting of magic as it invaded her skin, her muscles, her soul. Donatella panted, screamed — she wanted to let go. _It’s too much too much_ her mind warned. _Don’t do this, let go_.

              “Don’t let go.”

              Jacks was used to the sharp lance of other people’s pain. How desperately it made its presence known, so much so he felt right now that Donatella’s mother had been his, and that he — for a moment — wished he’d died in her place. Wished he ran up and stabbed the Fallen Star, damn be the consequences. Wished he could do anything to save his mother. He’d only just said hello to her! He’d only just began imagining the life the three of them would lead: him, Scarlett, and Paloma. Perhaps not the ideal family, but good enough, happy enough. The taste of stolen cake turned bitter in his mouth when he found her slipped from the bed, the tray clattering against the floor.

              He wanted to scream.

              His feet hurt as he followed Paloma through the streets.

              His body numb against her poison.

              He watched the Fallen Star pull the dagger from his chest and stab it into Paloma.

              Again.

              And again.

              And again.

              And again.

              He wanted to scream.

              Cry.

              Kill the Fallen Star.

              He wanted emptiness.

              He wished he’d died instead.

              Donatella took a shuddered breath; so did Jacks.

              It was always curious, feeling another person’s emotions.

              She watched her mother die once, but had to go through the memory to pass it off to Jacks, and for a moment he wondered if a repeat was enough to kill her; she could feel it squeezing on her heart, suffocating her blood and her life. And not seconds after he made Donatella his wife.

              No one would kill her, not even Jacks.

              “Look at me.”

              She did.

              She looked so fragile, so tired and helpless. Worse than when he carried her from the Menagerie, worse than when she looked at him with woeful eyes begging to be rid of his pain.

              Jacks hated that look.

              “Is this transaction too intense for you,” he asked through a gritted pant. He saw Donatella, and he saw her mother’s pained expression as the knife twisted in her chest. He felt it, too. “Or are you actually worried about me?”

              A flash of embarrassment colored her pale cheeks the lightest pink. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

               _Good_ , he thought. _Think how much you hate me, how much you don’t want to love me._

              Jacks leaned in closer, so close he could taste her lips without pressing his to hers. A linger of sweets was left on her skin, and Jacks wondered if the rest of her tasted that way. “Don’t lie to me. I feel everything you’re feeling right now.”

              She didn’t pull away. She hated that she didn’t want to, and she hated the way Jacks looked: almost _human_.

              He smiled through the pain of her memory. “I promise it won’t hurt this time.”

              And Donatella — the person who first made his heart beat in so many years, the _only_ person who has — pressed her lips against his this time.

               _Good_.

              Jacks took it as invitation to kiss her back, and not at all how softly she began. Hungry. There was nothing to be found that was sweet or kind in his kiss; all gods who’ve perished, how Jacks wanted nothing more than to _consume_ her. Devour her entirely, until she was _nothing_.

              Maybe then his wretched heart would stop beating; would stop reminding him with each _ba-dump ba-dump_ that he, too, could be mortal.

              Good thing he didn’t _love_ this creature.

              Jacks grabbed her other hand in his, and pulled her towards him. He forced their bound hands behind her pack, pulling her body flush against his. He could feel every curve of her body, and though they were chest to chest it still felt too far. Jacks needed her closer, somehow. He needed her, all of her.

              Their kiss continued, deeper, and Jacks felt her heart beating heavily against his chest. Donatella wanted this, and she didn’t want this. She couldn’t remember why she was kissing him, but she liked it. She hated that she liked it. But she didn’t peel her mouth away. She let his tongue slip inside her mouth.

              Jacks wanted her so damn badly, and willed her to want him just as much.

              Donatella pulled against his grip, and they found themselves on the floor. He rolled over her, she over him.

              She bit him this time, the sting of blood mixing with the sweetness of her tongue. Dark beneath the light, and on and on they kissed. It turned slow, as though they realized finally they had all the evening, and the night, and the day after — they needn’t leave this room, needn’t tear their hands or lips or bodies apart from each other.

              A life consumed of kisses and touches and more.

              Jacks snaked his leg around hers, pulling her body down onto his. As much as he wanted to explore her — and free her of that damned dress — he couldn’t find the effort needed to free his hand from hers. And maybe it was part Donatella: she couldn’t loosen her grip either.

               _Legend…_

              The vows they spoke merged Donatella with him: her heart, her body, her thoughts.

              Jacks bit her lower lip. _You don’t want him_ , he whispered into her brain, spoke into her mouth with his kiss, with his tongue. _You want me. You’ve only ever wanted me, Donatella Dragna. Why else did you message me of all people to ferry you off that dreadful island? You knew. You didn’t know exactly then, but you knew it was me._

              He said as much as he tumbled over her, their hands still clasped in each other’s. Jacks lay atop of her, one knee falling between her legs and hitching up. His hands pulled hers above her head, and his tongue plunged deeper into her mouth.

              He wanted her.

              He wanted her so badly.

              He would _die_ if he didn’t have her.

               _You want me_ , Jacks kissed into her mouth. _You’ve never wanted anyone more than you’ve wanted me._

              Donatella moaned in response, a sound that echoed through his chest.

               _More_.

              Was that her, or him?

              He didn’t care. He would have Donatella, and no one else.

               _You want-_

              Donatella ripped her bleeding hand from his.

              Their eyes shot open.

              Her breaths were short and deep, and though she was still fully clothed (though blood dirtied her dress, her skin, marring her in a warhol of splatters), Jacks thought she looked deliciously debased.

              Not _entirely_ , and that at least gave him time to savor the possibilities. How and where and when. And how many times.

              She looked up at him with eyes that no longer looked on the verge of holding back tears. They were empty, lids too heavy to push open. She fought against them, tracing his tears: her emotions were painful, so painful, and he felt the blood drying on his cheeks already. Some of it smudged onto her face, bright red against her pale skin. Her fingertips came back red.

               _Stay with me,_ he told her, first with his mind and then wrapping his arms around her as though he could meld the entirety of her body with his. _You don’t ever need to leave._

              “Thank you, Jacks.”

              Her eyes were too tired to manage to look up at him. He _felt_ her sleepiness, her aching, her quieted hatred that she was pushing away for later time.

              He felt everything Donatella felt. It was curious, and confounding.

              But most of all, he was feeling the aching numbness of her mother’s death. It settled atop all the other emotions, bubbling free from the lust. How heavy it pained her if even Jacks felt the sorrow more than the desire to have his way with the girl in his arms.

              Jacks licked his teeth, tasting blood. “I’m not sure I did you a favor, my love.”

              She didn’t respond. Donatella — rid of her grief, full instead with a content emptiness — was asleep immediately, curled up against his chest as Jacks ran his fingers down the shape of her side. Her body shivered as he traced her arm sandwiched between their chests, as he traced the dip of her hip and the exposed part of her leg during their not-quite-tryst.

              If he had his full powers…

              The two of them would never leave this room, this position. Jacks wanted nothing more than to satisfy her, to have her, to make her know not even her own name. _Jacks Jacks Jacks_ , she’d chant, a prayer to the gods — but mostly to him.

              But with their union, perhaps he _could_ make her love him. Make her realize it was Jacks all along she yearned for. Make her realize — when the truth of their marriage came to light — that she wanted to keep it. After all, the longer they were married, the worse it would pain them to break it off, and less likely was Donatella to go through with it.

              He needed only wait it out before Donatella found herself consumed with thoughts of Jacks.

              He closed his eyes, resting his chin atop her wild mess of gold curls. Her hair was soft, and still smelled vaguely of roses and snow and sunshine. He drew circles over her back, feeling her fervent heart beating beneath fingertips. It was so loud, he wondered if it was the building shaking with the tune of their hearts.

              So close, they beat as one.

               _You’re mine, Donatella Dragna_ , he thought into her dreams. _You’ll always be mine, from this day until your last_.

              There was a knocking against his mind (her mind, he realized). A pleading knock, one that Jacks initially thought was his heart. But its beat fell out of tune.

              Jacks pushed the suitor away. Whatever it was, whoever it was — they wouldn’t have his Donatella so easily.

              His arms pulled his love towards him just a little bit tighter. Donatella might not love him _now_ , but she will. He’d make sure of it.


End file.
